


Seas(on) The Moment

by luninosity, musette22, paperstorm



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: AU where they’ve never met, Beginnings, Cooking, Crush at First Sight, Dorks in Love, Evanstan - Freeform, Falling In Love, Love Via Internet Videos, M/M, Masturbation, Some Vague Hints At Dom/sub Dynamics In Sebastian's Thoughts, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/musette22/pseuds/musette22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: Quarantine coping mechanisms. Or: Sebastian watches Chris's internet cooking videos, and falls in love. And posts a video of his own...
Relationships: Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan
Comments: 90
Kudos: 431





	Seas(on) The Moment

**Author's Note:**

> We made a Thing! To hopefully help make everyone smile! We had fun doing this, and we hope you enjoy it, too!

Sebastian’s managing this whole isolation thing…okay. Enough. He thinks. He stares at a chicken breast and says aloud, “I’m doing okay.”

The chicken breast does not answer. It’s possibly judging him.

It’s also possible that Sebastian, given the talking-to-chicken-breasts, is not a _hundred_ percent okay.

He’s always been pretty good at keeping himself entertained—he’s got books, he’s figured out how to work out in his apartment using stairs and some weights and maybe some awesome dance moves, and he’s definitely got his writing. He’s been getting a lot of writing done, and that feels good: creating, spinning stories, making something that didn’t exist before. Maybe someday he’ll feel sure enough of his words to share them, maybe not; that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s made something, and it’s made him smile, and that’s a little extra piece of good in the world.

He wants to say as much to the chicken, but it’s already skeptical about him, so he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know how to cook, or not really. He can more or less put chicken in a pan. And maybe eggs. He can make peanut-butter sandwiches. He’s not going to starve.

He’s aware of his own privilege. He can grumble about not knowing recipes or losing the muscles he’s worked hard on—a tiny bit of his head mutters old familiar words about self-esteem or the lack thereof; he ignores it, because he likes the way he looks, and he likes himself, these days, most days—but he’s also pretty fucking fortunate, all things considered. He’s young, healthy, in possession of a decent amount of money and toilet paper, and able to stay home and still have his acting jobs waiting for him on the other side. He knows all of that.

He might be a little lonely—a little in need of touch, a cuddle, petting, voice and hands telling him he’s been good, he deserves to feel good, he can get on his knees or be put over someone’s lap for a spanking just because they both love feeling that—but he’ll survive. He can handle this.

He eats a bite of chicken, with some vengeance about the judgmental feelings of earlier. His kitchen’s very clean. His whole apartment’s never been so clean. Well, minus a few stacks of books, but those’re necessary. Important. _And_ decorative, thanks.

So he’s got some time and some space and a freezer full of chicken. He is, he decides on the spot, going to take this time to Work On Himself. To learn some life skills. Like cooking. Maybe he can post some videos, provide some entertainment. Something, anyway.

He looks at his phone. He wonders what recipes might be possible for someone who has, well, a random assortment of ingredients. Peanut butter. Bananas. Chicken. Bread. Coffee. Tea.

He tries searching for cooking videos on YouTube. Several of them are way too intimidating, but then he stumbles on one he kind of likes. The guy’s gorgeous, which doesn’t hurt—in fact he’s also an actor, someone Sebastian recognizes but hasn’t worked with ever—and is dressed in the world’s coziest sweater, with the world’s coziest beard, and laughs at himself while stirring a pot and saying, “Okay, my mom’s way better at this, but I’m stuck here with my brother, so we’re gonna do our best, at least this is looking like chili so far, okay?”

The gorgeous man also has a Boston accent. Sebastian’s always had a weakness for accents.

And muscles. And competence. And niceness.

Sebastian likes people who know what they like, who can give him directions, and who offer praise and encouragement and the ability to care for someone else. Gorgeous Man is hitting all those buttons, hard.

Gorgeous Man is named Chris Evans, and he’s posted a few videos so far—himself and his brother and his dog, who is also adorable and enthusiastic—and he’s made pizza and beer bread and homemade doughnuts. Sebastian might be in love.

Chris Evans says, on Sebastian’s phone, now propped up against some bananas, “Some of you maybe stocked up on basics like chicken, so tomorrow we’re gonna make chicken tacos—Scott, stop aiming the camera at my ass—”

“The people want to see your ass,” Scott says. “The people miss seeing America’s favorite ass.”

“So tomorrow I’ll also shove a tortilla into my brother’s face on camera,” Chris Evans says. “You won’t want to miss it.”

Sebastian would like to give Scott a lot of money to keep filming. But also would like to tell Chris to keep filming: Chris is real, cheerful, acknowledging the current state of the world and doing what he can, trying to help people. Chris seems like a good person, and Sebastian can’t help feeling like Chris is maybe talking to him, just to him, even though he knows that’s not true.

Chris somehow knew about his freezer full of chicken. That’s a sign, right?

It’s not. Of course it’s not. But he’s going to watch Chris tomorrow anyway.

In fact, when he wakes up the next day, one of the first things Sebastian’s mind drifts to is the video that Chris promised would be up this afternoon.

He spends the morning making some good progress on his story, delighted to see the character he’s been struggling with finally taking shape. When he feels satisfied with it, he starts on his usual exercise routine, which includes sprinting up and down the stairs a dozen times and doing pull ups on the bar he ordered online and installed in his hallway.

Workout done, Sebastian whips himself up a quick banana and peanut butter smoothie in his blender and takes it into the living room. He makes himself comfortable on his couch, putting his feet up on the glass coffee table and settling in to wait for the next tutorial to be uploaded, which Sebastian Chromecasts to his TV from his phone.

Inexplicably, he feels a little nervous. Or maybe just excited? Either way, he’s eager to learn what Chris will be teaching him today. And maybe also to see what he’s wearing.

When the video finally appears and Chris’s handsome face fills his TV screen, Sebastian isn’t disappointed. 

“Hi guys!” Chris greets him enthusiastically, giving a dorky little wave. He’s is dressed in a red plaid button up, which, in combination with his buzzed hair and his cozy beard gives him the appearance of a kind of really, really, _really_ sexy lumberjack. Sebastian swallows, forcing himself to focus on what Chris is saying instead of on how good the color red looks on him.

“Okay,” Chris begins, “yesterday I promised I’d show you guys how to make chicken tacos, so that’s what we’re gonna do.” The camera pans to the counter, where the various ingredients are laid out, and Chris patiently names and describes all of them: a bunch of dried herbs, a lime, some fresh cilantro, tacos and diced, raw chicken. “Now, I know most people would probably add some avocados to this, but I’m not gonna do that because I don’t like ‘em.”

Sebastian snorts at Chris’s matter-of-fact tone. Most millennials living in New York City would consider disliking avocado akin to blasphemy, but somehow, it just endears Chris to him even more. Chris just seems like the type of guy who doesn’t give a shit about what’s popular or trendy; a trait Sebastian admires. After watching a handful of his videos, he’s gotten the impression that Chris has very strong likes and dislikes and is equally passionate and vocal about both – no matter what others may think of him.

For someone like Sebastian, who’s always struggled with caring _too much_ about what other people think of him, that kind of attitude feels pretty refreshing.

“My lovely assistant here” – the camera turns around to show a grinning Scott, propping up his face on his palm with a coquettish head tilt – “has been so kind as to help me chop up some of the ingredients before we started… Yes, thank you Scott, you can turn it back around now – Scott!”

“Fine, fine,” Scott grumbles, quasi-annoyed as he focuses the camera on Chris again. “God forbid _I’d_ get a moment in the spotlight for once.”

Chris rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, then claps together his hands – his big, strong hands, Sebastian can’t help but notice, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. “So,” he says, looking straight into the camera, his beautiful blue eyes twinkling, “the first thing we gotta do is mix the herbs…”

Sebastian really does try to pay attention to the tutorial. He does. It just doesn’t really work. His mind keeps drifting, his gaze fixating on the way Chris’s hands grip the knife, on the flex of his forearms where he’s got his shirt sleeves rolled up, the way the tip of his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating on arranging the various ingredients into a neat pile on the tacos. 

With his deep voice and sunny smiles and broad shoulders, Chris Evans just ticks every single one of Sebastian’s boxes. He’s loath to admit it, but he can feel himself developing a crush on this handsome stranger at a breakneck speed. Which really is kind of embarrassing, at his age.

A few days pass, in which Chris loyally uploads a new video every afternoon, and with each video, the butterflies fluttering around in Sebastian’s belly get a little more pronounced.

And his growing infatuation isn’t just physical either. Chris’s cheerful demeanor, the way he banters with and ribs his brother, but likewise his occasional insightful commentary on their current situation, and how open he is about how he’s dealing with this whole quarantine-business; all of it serves to make Sebastian feel a little bit better about life. It’s nice to know there are still some good humans in this fucked up world, and the fact that even a guy like Chris can sometimes suffer from anxiety makes Sebastian feel a little less alone and defective.

Having said that, though, a lot of the attraction _is_ physical. 

Sebastian’s not sure if maybe his libido is through the roof because he’s spent so much of his time in isolation masturbating (well, what the hell else is he supposed to do?) but the truth is, he can’t stop thinking about Chris Evans, and _that_ body. Can’t stop wondering what he would smell like, what he’d taste like, how his big hands would feel on Sebastian’s own, slightly slimmer body. Would Chris throw him around a bit? He certainly looks like he could. And that deep commanding voice, would he use that to call him a good boy? _His_ good boy? Sebastian feels a little lightheaded just imagining it.

Inevitably, at some point over the next few days, while Sebastian is watching Chris bake a homemade apple pie, his right hand finds its way into his sweatpants, fingers curling around himself and squeezing lightly. He’s already half hard, and it doesn’t take much to get himself to full mast.

There’s no denying that he feels like a bit of a creep, getting off to a stranger doing utterly wholesome things on TV, but his thirst far outweighs his reservations right now.

He feels a little bad, but also _good_.

So good, in fact, that he decides to fully go for it. Quickly shimmying down his sweatpants and briefs to give himself better access, Sebastian slumps down a little in his seat and resumes slowly stroking himself. He deliberates getting up to fetch some lube, but decides against it because he’s too comfortable and too horny. And besides, he doesn’t really need it. Gradually, the light hold he has on himself turn into a firmer grip, his strokes gathering speed. His palm occasionally squeezes around the head, collecting the wetness that’s already gathering there before rubbing back down again, turning the slide increasingly slick and satisfying.

He sighs in pleasure, licking his dry lips as he watches Chris bend down to take the apple pie out of the oven. He sends a mental thank you note to Scott, who’s giving the public – and Sebastian – what they want by zooming on Chris’s ass again. Because there’s no one around who could hear him, Sebastian groans out loud at the sight of those thick, strong thighs, his hips bucking up as he briefly presses his thumb into the tip. His imagination runs wild with scenes of him straddling those thighs, of Chris wrapping those massive arms around his waist and pulling him in for a scorching kiss while Sebastian rides him.

His hand speeds up involuntarily, breaths coming quicker now. Biting down on his lower lip, he cups his balls with his other hand, rolling them lightly between his fingers. Arousal spools low in his gut, a slow, gradual pressure that’s increasing with every pass of his hand over his cock.

On the screen, Chris suddenly looks straight at the camera, raises his left eyebrow in a stern expression and says, “Now, I know the smell of fresh apple pie is tempting as hell, but remember it’s burnin’ hot right now. Let it cool down a little before you have a taste, or I promise you you’ll regret it.” He plants his hands on his tiny waist before finishing, “So be good, alright?”

Then the bastard _winks_ , and Sebastian is done for.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. Throwing back his head against the backrest, the world around him fades into pure sensation as his orgasm crashes through him and he spills warmly over his own hand.

When he comes to, breathing hard and slumped halfway down the couch, YouTube has started to play some other random cooking video in which an elderly lady is explaining a technique called _sautéing_. Sebastian flexes his hand, covered in his own release, rapidly drying and already uncomfortably sticky. Wrinkling his nose at the mess, he sighs.

“I’m so going to hell,” he tells the lady on the screen, and something about the set of her mouth tells him she agrees.

Sebastian lasts another three days before he gives in. He still watches Chris’s daily videos, still feeling embarrassingly like he’s falling in love from afar with a person he’s never met, as if he lived a century in the past. If this were somehow 100 years ago, this would be the moment he started writing letters of courtship to Chris and began planning how to ask his father permission to take him on a date. Since he’s obviously not going to do that, and since this infatuation is entirely one-sided as Chris doesn’t even know Sebastian is watching his videos, Sebastian decides to do nothing at all, and lasts three days at it.  
  
On a sunny Wednesday, he decides _fuck it_ , and pulls out his phone. He flips the camera to the front one, spends far too much time finding a place to sit on his floor in front of a window where the lighting is nice and makes his skin look much softer and more luminescent than it really is, and taps the record button at the bottom of the screen.  
  
“Hey, guys,” he starts, in a voice so bright and cheery that it sounds fake, and then he realizes how much he just sounded like a typical YouTuber, and he stops the recording and digs his fingertips into his closed eyes, cursing under his breath.

He resets, and tries again. “Hey, it’s Sebastian,” he says, this time, and that’s stupid too but he keeps going because he doesn’t even think Chris Evans has Instagram so he almost certainly won’t see this anyway. “I hope you’re all managing not to go too insane these past few weeks. I am definitely going insane, but we all gotta do our part and stay indoors. Anyway, I just wanted to check in, and mention I’ve been watching these – you guys all know who Chris Evans is, I’m sure, and he’s been making cooking tutorials with his brother and they’re awesome. He uploads one daily on his YouTube channel, just search it and I’m sure you’ll find them, if you’re looking for something to cheer you up a little. They’ve definitely been, uh, bringing a bit of cheer back into my day. And I can’t cook for shit, so, I’ve been having fun trying some of the recipes. Yeah. So, that’s it. Hope you’re staying safe. See you soon.”  
  
He blows a kiss to the camera, something he’s done dozens of times before in live videos, but this time feels incredibly foolish doing it, for reasons he can’t quite define. He watches the video back, and cringes at how awkward it is and how uncool he looks, but decides posting it as-is would be far, far less weird than rerecording it over and over until he got it just right. Especially since, as he reminds himself again, the chances Chris will even see it are slim. And really, that shouldn’t even be the point. He _should_ be posting to his Instagram for the purpose of spreading a little love around in these difficult times, not as a sneaky back-handed pickup attempt.  
  
He posts the video, and half-heartedly peruses a few of the comments as they come flooding in, and then tosses his phone down on the couch and busies himself going through old photos on his laptop and organizing them into folders like he’s been meaning to for about a decade.  
  
In the morning, there is an email from his agent. That’s not unusual, although a little rarer these days as casting has slowed down significantly, so he opens it while still in bed, thinking nothing of it. Most of it is what he would have expected from her, at a time like this, had he given it any thought before diving in. Checking in, hoping he’s healthy, a few leads on future projects but nothing anyone can commit to.  
  
At the very end, she drops in an additional sentence – casual, as it it’s nothing – about being contacted by the agent of an actor he may have heard of named Chris Evans.  
  
Who wants his email address.  
  
Because he saw the video Sebastian posted.  
  
And he wants to talk to him about it.  
  
Sebastian thinks it’s rather heroic of himself that he manages to not have a sudden-onset asthma attack right there in his Ralph Lauren sheets, even though he doesn’t, to his present knowledge, have asthma. If anything could spontaneously give him a chronic illness, it’s the idea of the man he’s been more-or-less cyber-stalking for weeks wanting to send him an email to discuss it.  
  
Still, Sebastian is a masochist with no sense of self-preservation, so he sends his agent a message back answering her questions and including, in a way he hopes but doubts is as casual as her, that she can pass along the information.  
  
It’s less than 20 minutes later, when his phone buzzes and there’s an email from Chris. Sebastian goes from anxious but managing to eat breakfast in relative dignity, to dripping in nervous sweat and heart racing, in a matter of seconds.  
  
 _Hey!_ the email begins, and because he’s watched Chris say that word literally dozens of times at this point, Sebastian can hear it perfectly in his rumbly, gently accented voice as he reads. _Scott showed me your video on Instagram, thanks man! We’re going nuts over here all cooped up, I’m sure you are too. Had to pass the time somehow, right? Can only watch Beauty and the Beast so many times. Or at least, Scott can only watch it so many times. I could watch it every day for the rest of my life, probably._  
  
Sebastian pauses to smiles, because the one that spreads over his face is so big it scrunches his cheeks up and obscures his vision momentarily. God damn it. It was bad enough this guy had to be gorgeous and funny and effortlessly sexy, he didn’t have to also be so damn _cute_.  
  
 _Anyway_ , it continues, _just really wanted to say thanks, your video made me smile. It’s weird that we’ve never met, seems like we might run in some adjacent circles. Actually, crazy coincidence, Scott and I just watched The Martian over the weekend because he has a massive crush on Matt Damon that spans back to seeing Good Will Hunting for the first time when we were teenagers. You were great in it! Weird that I just spent two hours looking at your face a few days ago, and then this happened haha. Anyway. That’s all, I hope you’re staying safe. – Chris_  
  
Sebastian reads it three times. He swoons like a Victorian maiden. It’s absolutely ridiculous.  
  
He spends a downright embarrassing amount of time crafting a response, second-guessing himself about 58 different times in 30 minutes, but finally hits send with his heart beating up into his throat, and tosses his phone away across the kitchen table. It skids along the polished wood, and mocks him as it lies there, remaining dark, no immediate notification indicating Chris has responded.  
  
An hour later, he does. Sebastian is trying his best to distract himself, trying to write, trying to occupy himself with squats and lunges, trying really anything to take his mind off the fact that in truth he’s sitting around waiting for an email from a cute boy he doesn’t know. It doesn’t work, and he goes right back into panic-mode when his phone finally lights up with Chris’s message.  
  
 _This is gonna sound kinda weird, maybe_ , it says, _but I’m so fucking bored. Scott’s napping, and also he’s definitely getting sick of having no one but me to talk to. Would it be crazy if I called you? Or FaceTimed? Totally feel free to say no. I know it’s weird. I’m just starved for conversation haha and most of my friends have kids and families and stuff that need their attention a lot more than I do. Let me know, and please don’t feel bad about telling me to fuck off. I deserve it probably._  
  
For a moment, Sebastian can barely breathe. He closes his eyes, opens them again, takes a deep breath in the hopes of cleansing his busy mind, and responds his affirmative. Because, once again, fuck it. It’s a pandemic, if this isn’t the time for taking a crazy chance on something like this, he doesn’t know when is.  
  
He emails his number, and his screen is lighting up again only moments later, with a FaceTime request. Sebastian hastily tries to smooth down his hair, to find a place to sit where the mess of his apartment won’t show on the screen, where maybe the lighting is decent so he doesn’t look tired or puffy or any of the things he currently thinks he looks. He hadn’t been expecting Chris to call him _right now,_ but he’s not about to turn it down since Chris is already calling, when Sebastian just a minute ago told him he could.  
  
He answers it, fingers shaking a little and nerves coursing through him, and Chris’s face appears on the screen. Pale skin, buzzed brown hair, a thick beard that Sebastian wants to run his fingers through. His face breaks into a smile as soon as the call connects, blue eyes going squinty, stupidly perfect white teeth appearing between pink lips.  
  
Sebastian could maybe die happy right here and now, before they’ve spoken a single word.  
  
“Hey!” Chris says, bright and cheery, like he’s genuinely happy to be speaking with Sebastian, even though this is the first time they’ve ever done so. It seems so real, so earnest, and Sebastian might for real be in love with him.  
  
“Hi,” Sebastian answers, smiling back.  
  
There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then Chris says, “uh …” and laughs, scratching at the back of his neck, and it’s so endearing that it fixes the awkwardness even though he’s barely done anything.  
  
“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees, laughing too.  
  
“This is weird. Sorry.” Chris shrugs, self-deprecating but still oddly self-assured – like he knows he’s a goofball, but likes himself enough to not care. Sebastian would figuratively kill for that level of confidence.  
  
“A little, yeah,” he admits, but shrugs too. “But so is, like, everything. Right now. So who cares, right?”  
  
Chris nods enthusiastically. “Totally. How are you holding up?”  
  
“Alright. Getting lonely, I’m here by myself. But I’m safe, at least. So many people aren’t as lucky as me.”  
  
Chris nods again, this time it’s solemn and serious and Sebastian hates a little bit that he puts that expression on Chris’s handsome face, even though it’s appropriate for the subject matter. “I know. I get really sad thinking about it.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“It’s weird that we haven’t met before, right?” Chris asks, repeating what he’d said in his first email. “I did some Googling and we’ve been in movies with a bunch of the same people, just never at the same time.”  
  
“You did some Googling?” Sebastian inquires with a raised eyebrow, realizing too late it sounds a bit like a pick-up line, and he frets for just a moment before Chris’s face breaks back into that beautiful smile, and his cheeks flush a pretty pink.  
  
“Yeah.” He laughs softly, and looks down for a moment. “I, uh … I don’t know. Like I said, I’m bored. And you’re cute, so.”  
  
Sebastian falters, forgetting how to make his mouth form words for a moment while he attempts to absorb that piece of information. “I … I am?”  
  
Chris gives him a look. “Don’t tell me you don’t know you’re cute.”  
  
“No, I mean I … are you …?”  
  
Chris nods and presses his lips together. “I’m not, like, fully out. So maybe don’t say anything about it the next time you’re on Kimmel. But it’s also not fully a secret, so.”  
  
“Oh. I didn’t know.”  
  
“Are you? Oh God, if you’re straight and I just fully creeped you out –”  
  
“No,” Sebastian interrupts quickly. His heart is still going a mile a minute. It feels at this point as if it’s been palpitating for literal hours, which maybe isn’t so good for his nervous system. “No, I’m … in the same boat, I guess. As you.”  
  
“Okay.” Chris licks his lips, and Sebastian watches it, and then blushes himself when it seems like Chris can tell, even through a tiny screen. “So, this is forward, maybe. But what the hell, can I call you again? Another time? Like, tomorrow maybe?”  
  
Sebastian nods, tries not to come off too eager, but then abandons that, too, because Chris has been extraordinarily honest in this brief conversation, so he deserves for Sebastian to do the same. “I’d like that,” he says.  
  
“Could I take you for dinner sometime? Once this is all over and we’re allowed to do that again?”  
  
“Really? You don’t even know me, what if we FaceTime again and it turns out I’m horrible?”  
  
“I may have done a bit more than Googling,” Chris answers, with another casual shrug and a devastating grin. “May have watched a few interviews. Fan footage from conventions. Things like that. May have decided already that you’re sweet and adorable and sexy and I really, really wanna take you on a date and see that chin dimple all up close and personal.”  
  
“God.” Sebastian exhales. “Just like that, huh?”  
  
“Crazy times,” Chris says, echoing Sebastian’s exact thoughts.  
  
“Okay,” he agrees. Something warm spreads out to his extremities at the thought, of talking to Chris again, of one day getting to meet him in person, see that gorgeous smile up close. “I’d like that, too.”


End file.
